In the lead-up to the June 7 opening of the 2014 Venice Architecture Biennale, director Rem Koolhaas sounded like he was planning a family therapy session for the architectural profession: “This retrospective will generate a fresh understanding of the richness of architecture’s fundamental repertoire, apparently so exhausted today,” he remarked upon the January 2013 announcement that he would curate this year’s edition. Koolhaas cited “the process of the erasure of national characteristics in favor of the almost universal adoption of a single modern language” as one source of architecture’s current predicament. Contemporary architecture, he noted, has become “flattened,” and though Koolhaas doesn’t necessarily see this as a negative quality, he requested that national pavilion curators redirect their attention away from contemporary architecture. Each participating country was asked to produce an exhibition on the influence of modernization in the 20th century on its architecture, as a means of inspiring reflection on the worldwide monotony of contemporary building. With the 2014 Biennale now underway, it’s clear that the combined efforts of the 66 exhibiting countries have produced more questions than answers.
Several patterns emerged this year. The archive, as a depository of the kind of historical research performed by this year’s curators, is invoked in various capacities. Many pavilions reference work from previous Biennales, like the American and Swiss displays, which attempt to enliven a site that is typically reserved for solitude and study. Other displays, notably the Koolhaas-curated Monditalia section in the Arsenale, employ dance, film, and photography — but not architecture — to represent the built environment. At times, these methods produced overwhelming exhibitions crammed with text and visual stimulation; at others, they struck a delicate balance between mediums and historic moments that allowed for a moment of pause required for insightful reflection. Below are some of our favorites.
French Pavilion — “Modernity, Promise or Menace?”
Curated by Jean-Louis Cohen (the mastermind of last summer’s blockbuster Corbusier retrospective at MoMA), the French pavilion takes a long glance at the country’s history of cast concrete residential architecture. Though the material and typology are more often associated with drab pre-fabricated blocks behind the Iron Curtain, the French pavilion offers a reminder that it was Corbusier and his ilk who popularized the material in geometric iterations around the globe.
Even more explicit is the discussion of the concrete block’s dual connotations: both a symbol of progress and repression. The display devoted to a housing estate built in southern France during the 1930s, which was used as a concentration camp during the Holocaust, is especially telling: the same blocks now operate again as residences. Architecture repeats itself, but memory is wiped clean.
Russian Pavilion — “Fair Enough”
Envisioned as a trade fair devoted to the exchange of ideas, the Russian pavilion, curated by Moscow’s Strelka Institute, contains some 20 booths “selling” the ideas of Russian architectural history to a global clientele. Can architectural ideas developed in Russia over the past century be exported abroad as solutions to resolve contemporary architectural and spatial questions? Like the Biennale, the pavilion doesn’t offer a conclusive answer.
What it does offer, however, is entertainment in spades. At one stall, an invented corporation called Estetika Ltd. sells vernacular ornamentation commonly found in Russian country houses and folk architecture as decorative elements fit for a skyscraper; at another booth, that same type of country house (the dacha) is displayed as a solution to the space crunch that befalls many urban denizens (it’s just that much cozier than a sterile storage unit, you know?). The greatest hits of Soviet design history — think El Lissitzky, VDNKh, and the Moscow metro — are presented in this absurdist, half-comical manner. But the underlying question might be a bit more sinister: what value does historic architecture have for the contemporary profession beyond novelty and nostalgia?
Polish Pavilion — “Impossible Objects”
Poland, along with Germany, is one of the few countries inside the Giardini to eschew the prevailing vogue for encyclopedic, data-driven (read: overwhelming) exhibitions. Instead, the pavilion is devoted to a single object — a full-scale replica of the canopy over the grave of Polish interwar military and political leader Marshal Jozef Pilsudski, designed by Adolf Szyszko-Bohusz in 1937. Here, architectural construction is treated as a metaphor for the process of building a modern state: the contradictions of both modern architecture and the modern nation-state are expressed in the canopy, a reactionary object based on Classical orders that suggests the predicament of building a modern regime on values inherited from the past. Enlarged illustrations by Jakub Woynarowski that line the surrounding walls explain the canopy’s iconography and the symbolism of the detached architectural elements — columns dislocated from the entablature to emphasize the canopy’s individual elements — which represent the countries between which Poland is sandwiched, and from which Szyszko-Bohusz liberally borrowed in his design for the canopy. Isolated at the center of the pavilion, the canopy can only be understood in the midst of its real and imagined surroundings: explanatory renderings, Russia and Germany, and past and present.